That night the centre of the lake appeared wonderfully agitated, and a dark cloud lay close over it.
The wind—quite a breeze for this great ocean backwater—was blowing from the ship towards the submarine volcano—for it was nothing less—so that those on board the Zingara were but little inconvenienced by sulphureous fumes.
But all night long the lightning played incessantly in the dark cloud that hovered over the ocean-covered crater, and low muttering thunder was heard, while every now and then the ship was shaken fore and aft.
With the single exception perhaps of Teenie herself, no one lay down to sleep till far into the short hours of morning. But tired and weary now, our heroes stretched themselves on deck at last, and were soon forgetful of all around them.
Day was breaking when they awoke and staggered to their feet.
Their first glances were turned towards the submarine volcano.
All was peaceful and still.
The dark cloud was there no longer.
The breeze itself had almost died away, but a heavy swell, greater than any they had yet experienced, was rolling in from the far-off blue sea, which told them plainly that a violent storm or tornado must have been raging in the south.
The ship rose and fell and rolled, and the disagreeable motion altogether reminded them of the doldrums of the equator.